


Kiss and Tell (Loose Lips Sink Ships)

by Nokomis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ensemble Cast, M/M, kissing to save the day!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 04:50:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nokomis/pseuds/Nokomis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek kiss to save Beacon Hills from a curse, and it’s terrible.  Really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss and Tell (Loose Lips Sink Ships)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Lielabell for the fantastic beta. Without her this would have a very anticlimactic ending. <3 And yes, I apparently really love writing ridiculous tropefic about Stiles/Derek, why do you ask.

“Ugh, it’s fine, dude, just do it,” Stiles says, because _seriously_ , they need to just save the day already. He doesn’t understand why the curse can be broken by putting mountain ash and wolfsbane in a circle and then kissing Derek, but whatever. As long as it works, right? Deaton seemed pretty certain that ‘cross-species positive physical contact’ would work, so long as an Alpha was involved.

A kiss was way less invasive that what Stiles had thought Deaton meant, at least. Derek had looked equally horrified until Deaton had hastily clarified that it just had to be a kiss, nothing more.

“We can find another…” Derek waffles. He’s looking anywhere but Stiles.

“Who? Allison?” Stiles asks, because he’s kind of a butt. But totally justified, because honestly, he’s not _that_ terrible to look at, and he’s pretty sure he’s an awesome kisser. 

Derek gets that pained expression he has sometimes, where it looks like he’s about to just quit this life and start over somewhere new. He takes a deep breath and steps into the circle. Stiles is about to make some dumb comment about girding loins when Derek abruptly kisses him.

It’s brief and a little awkward, since Derek doesn’t actually touch him with anything but his lips, leaning over clumsily like a middle schooler on his first date. But it’s also warm and soft and when Derek pulls away, Stiles can still feel the ghost of the kiss on his lips.

He stares at Derek, trying to ignore the tingles he’s still feeling. Derek’s eyes are wide, like he’s maybe confused that he just kissed Stiles, never mind that was the entire point of this field trip.

Then there’s a strange wind as the curse breaks, sending the wolfsbane and mountain ash swirling. Derek breathes it in, of course, because that guy’s life is the absolute worst, and he has a coughing fit that leaves him red and teary-eyed.

“I wasn’t _that_ terrible,” Stiles teases as he helps Derek to the Jeep. Derek’s coughing too hard to threaten him properly, so he just flips Stiles off.

Stiles laughs and drops him off at his loft.

*

“So how was smooching Derek Hale?” Scott asks him as soon as he steps into his room.

Stiles jumps and shrieks a little, because he wasn’t actually _expecting_ Scott to be in his bedroom, but he recovers quickly and says dramatically, “Life changing. I think he’s ruined me for all other werewolves.”

Scott laughs and continues the game he’s playing on Stiles’ laptop. “Well, once you go werewolf…”

“Yeah?” Stiles asks, because he wants to see if Scott can come up with anything to finish it.

“…you never go bolf?” Scott guesses. 

“I solemnly swear to never go bolf again.” Stiles flops on his bed. “Maybe next time there’s a super accidental curse cast in Beacon Hills you’ll get to kiss him. Experience the magic.”

“I can only hope,” Scott says. He twirls in the chair to face Stiles. “Are you ever going to fess up that you’re the one who read that website out loud and caused all those plagues?”

“Never, and I swear, if you tell, I’m putting those pictures from second grade on facebook.”

“Your secret is safe,” Scott promises.

*

Stiles thinks that life is totally normal again after that, since no frogs have fallen from the sky and no one’s told him to kiss Derek Hale to save the world.

Only the thing is, when he sees Derek, he keeps _remembering_ that they kissed. And it wasn’t even a great kiss! It was as innocent and as much a non-event a kiss can be, and yet, he keeps _looking at Derek’s lips_.

Like a total creep. Stiles is the worst. He actually finds himself thinking that Derek’s lips are _bitable_. He, Stiles Stilinksi, is thinking about _tugging Derek’s bottom lip with his teeth_. 

He has to blink a lot and look away and pretend like he’s super interested in how there’s a coffee table in this room, wow, Derek, you sure do have some great interior decorating skills.

It’s a very effective save; Derek kind of backs away and talks just to Scott for the rest of the time.

*

“So, you and Derek…” Isaac says. He’s leaning artfully against the locker next to Stiles’, and seriously, he can remember when that kid was the weirdo who dug graves after school, it’s so unfair that he suddenly looks like a model. 

“Are both people who exist, yes.” Stiles isn’t really sure where Isaac is going with that opening; surely all the kissing jokes that can be made have already been made. 

“So you’re pretending nothing happened?” Isaac raises an eyebrow.

“It was as close to nothing as a kiss can be,” Stiles says, because it’s the truth. The kiss was unspectacular, and if he’s kicking himself for not taking advantage of the situation… well, that’s something that is Stiles-exclusive. 

Isaac looks a little pissy at that, and Stiles belatedly remembers that Derek is Isaac’s Alpha and also roommate. “A very nice nothing! I mean, a very pleasant non-event.”

Probably this makes things worse; Isaac just turns and leaves.

*

He’s eating lunch with Scott, trying to figure out who can cram more fries in their mouth at once when Boyd walks up.

Boyd doesn’t sit down, he’s too busy judging them so hard that Stiles tries to chew up the mountain of French fries in his mouth too fast and gets choked up. Scott bangs on his back and saves the day.

Boyd says, “I can’t believe I had to be rescued by you guys.”

“We’re stealth-competent,” Stiles explains. He takes a carefully rationed sip of his tiny school milk and gestures for Boyd to join them.

Boyd declines. “I’m just here to tell you to stop playing Derek like this.”

“Stop… what?” Stiles has _no idea_ what Boyd is talking about. He hasn’t seen Derek in three days, and on that day he had an unfortunate physical reaction to his thoughts about Derek’s stupid, not at all attractive face and had to pretty much run away. He’s not playing Derek _at all_.

“Is it because he’s telling everyone Derek is a terrible kisser?” Scott pipes up with. “I’m sure it’s just exaggeration.”

“I haven’t said that Derek was a terrible kisser!” Stiles says a little too loudly. He gets a weird look from Danny, three tables over. “I just said it was a terrible kiss.”

“Same difference, dude,” Boyd says. “Think on it.”

Then he leaves, because Boyd is a suave motherfucker who knows how to make an exit. Stiles pokes at the sad little squishy fries left on his tray and says, “Am I supposed to make a sign telling everyone to kiss Derek Hale, he’s totally great at it, it’ll change your entire perspective on mouth-to-mouth contact?”

“Maybe just give him a high five and say, ‘job well done’?” Scott suggests. Scott has terrible suggestions. Stiles could _never do that_. It most emphatically was _not_ a job well done because if it had been, Stiles would have moved on and not have spent every day reconstructing the event and figuring out new and better ways he could have kissed Derek.

He scowls at his tray.

*

“So you need to go tell Derek I don’t think he’s a terrible kisser,” Stiles announces in the locker room.

“Pretty sure I’m not going to do that.” Scott doesn’t even pause undressing. He doesn’t even _consider_ the plan of action that Stiles spent half the night thinking of. (Well. At least ten minutes of the night thinking of, it’s not Stiles’ fault that Derek Hale’s Stubble and Its Possible Effects On Kissing is a really absurdly interesting concept.)

“Come on, dude, you owe me.” Stiles is not above playing every card in his hand. “Remember that time I had to play Telephone with you and Allison? You tried to _kiss_ me! You owe me!”

“Apparently I dodged a bullet, since your kisses end in disaster and are labeled terrible for the world to see,” Scott says, because Scott is a big fat poophead.

Danny walks by, muttering, “What the hell is going on anymore?” 

“Those are lies, I’m a very good kisser!” Stiles calls to him, lest Danny think Scott is telling the truth. Once your kissing rep is ruined, you can never get it back.Then he turns back to Scott. “Pleeeease?”

Scott sighs. “Fine.” 

Scott’s a sucker for Stiles’ puppydog eyes. Works every time.

*

“What’d he say?” Stiles bounces on the tip of his toes. Allison and Lydia both give him the ole side-eye, but he’s pretty practiced at ignoring that. 

“He was very Derek about it,” Scott says.

“That tells me absolutely nothing at all.” Stiles probably shouldn’t be relying on Scott for information. Scott forgets to note the important things, like the angle of Derek’s eyebrows and whether or not he sounds upset or endeared when he grunts out his one word answers.

Lydia cuts in with, “It means that he probably stared down Scott until he wanted to run, then said, ‘fine,’ in a defensive tone. That’s Derek’s usual modus operandi.”

“She got it in one,” Scott confirms.

“And you didn’t ask for any follow-up comments?” Stiles’ voice comes out embarrassingly strangled. He realizes that he is definitely not playing this as cool as he intended.

Lydia looks at him like she suddenly realizes what his real problem is, and he gives her a desperate look before she announces to the room that Stiles is obsessed with Derek Hale’s mouth. “Shouldn’t you have brought your boy problems to me, not McCall over there?”

Allison saves him from answering by asking, “Did you ever find the evil sorcerer who cast the curse in the first place?”

“It is a complete mystery. Must have been some fly-by-night kind of magician who scooted on to a new town,” Stiles says quickly. “And no, Lydia, I didn’t think of that because I do not _have_ boy problems. I am problem-free.”

Everyone laughs at him. It’s fine. Totally. Allison needs a good laugh. Stiles absolutely does not sulk.

*

“So have you actually talked to Derek?” Lydia asks him the next day, cornering him in the hall. 

“We’ve exchanged words,” Stiles says, “unless you mean recently, in which case, no.”

“And why not?” 

Stiles does not like being the subject of Lydia’s intimidating stare. It makes him want to hide in the nearest available locker. Lydia should be teaching the werewolves lessons in badassery. “No reason.”

Lydia smiles at him. “Are you _nervous_? Oh my god, did we finally find out what makes you shut the hell up?”

Stiles hides his face in his hands and says, “This is all careening wildly out of control. I will talk to him, okay? Me and Derek will have words.”

“Right now.” Lydia grabs his hand, which is always something that Stiles assumed he would swoon over, pre-Hale kissage.

Crap.

He doesn’t feel like swooning in the slightest. He wants to run instead.

“But class,” Stiles says. “Education comes first and all that jazz.”

“Do you want to talk to him alone, or when Isaac is hanging about with his super-hearing listening to every awkward word that comes out of your mouth?”

Lydia is pretty much a supergenius at everything, Stiles is forced to admit.

*

Lydia marches him up to Derek’s front door, rings the bell, and then waits beside him until Derek, hair askew and looking like he just crawled out of bed, answered the door.

Stiles does not squeak at the sight. Not in the slightest. He tries to tell himself that Derek probably stinks or hasn’t brushed his teeth or something, anything, to make him seem less stupidly attractive, but Stiles’ subconscious is strictly pro-Derek and won’t listen to reason.

“Stiles has something he’d like to say to you,” Lydia announces and shoves Stiles into the apartment. She shuts the door behind him, leaving him alone in the room with Derek for the first time since the kiss.

“Make it quick,” Derek grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. The action stretches his t-shirt in ridiculous ways. Stiles takes a deep breath.

“I shouldn’t have sent Scott to tell you what he told you, I should have done it myself,” Stiles says quickly, before he forgets what Lydia coached him to say in the car.

“Fine,” Derek says. Stiles squints at him, trying to figure out the subtext that Scott missed when he got this answer.

“But you have to admit,” Stiles says, because there was silence in the room for more than ten seconds and he started to feel uncomfortable about it, “that we really didn’t give that kiss our best effort. I mean, it broke the curse and all, but I think we could do better.”

“Out,” Derek says, pointing to the door. Stiles is getting really good at reading his faces, but this one, he hasn’t seen before.

“What I mean is—“

“ _Out_.” Derek uses his ‘and that’s final’ voice. 

Stiles turns and leaves.

*

“You are a _moron_ ,” Erica says as she climbs into his Jeep.

“It’s rude to get into someone’s car without an invitation,” Stiles tells her. He figures she’ll explain the moron comment; Erica’s pretty good at listing his faults when he’s done something she thinks is stupid. 

Apparently resurrection really brings out the sass in people, which explains a lot about Peter.

She rolls her eyes and says, “You of all people… What’s the most important thing with magic?”

“That we avoid it at all costs?” Stiles has no idea where this is leading.

“ _Intent_ ,” Erica says. “Why did the kiss work, if it was so terrible?”

“I…” Stiles is at a loss for words.

“Figure that one out, sweetie, and everything should work out fine.” Erica pats him on the shoulder and leaves him sitting him his Jeep contemplating her words.

*

Stiles has a weird feeling about what Erica was hinting at, but the only way to find out for certain is to talk to Deaton.

There’s only a ten percent chance that he’ll get a real answer out of the man, but Deaton is still more forthcoming than Derek, who is the Scrooge McDuck of hoarding information.

“You talked to Derek before you told me about the way to break the curse, didn’t you?” Stiles asks.

Deaton looks shifty. “That’s a strange assumption to reach.”

“It doesn’t make sense that the curse would need an Alpha and a human to break it,” Stiles says. “It wasn’t even a really werewolf-specific curse! Frogs from the motherfucking _sky_ and all. And you’re the one who taught me that magic needs intent more than anything.”

Deaton sighs. “It sounds like you already have your answer.”

“Did it have to be me?” Stiles has to know before he talks to Derek. He remembers how he suggested someone else take the bullet right before Derek stepped in and finally kissed him.

“It wouldn’t have worked otherwise.” Deaton confirms it.

*

It was immediately clear that Stiles had two options: to go back and talk to Derek like they were both functional people or to re-cast the spell so Derek had to kiss him again.

It’s obvious which method will actually work.

*

“Stiles.” Scott sounds super annoyed and Stiles is kind of glad that Scott had chosen to call, instead of complain at him in person. “I just got hit in the face. _With a frog_.”

“That is a crazy happenstance,” Stiles says. He hastily closes out the website with the curse on it; it had worked super fast.

“I was _on my bike_.” Scott lets out a growl. “I’m going back, picking it up, and I’m coming to your house and making you lick it.”

“You should maybe call up Derek,” Stiles suggests. “Let him know the curse is back and if there’s any way he could think of to break it.”

“Frog goo _in my mouth,_ you owe me so bad,” Scott says before hanging up.

Stiles manages to not laugh until he hangs up, but then his dad comes up to make sure he hasn’t hurt himself making that ‘ungodly racket.’

*

Stiles expects a call within the hour, after all, there’s a curse out there and his lips can stop it.

But nothing happens. Nada. Stiles stares at his phone, checking every few minutes in case he’s accidentally put it down in a no-service zone that just appeared in his room, or in case it shut itself off or something.

After an hour and three minutes of staring at his phone, he texts Scott for an update.

There’s no reply for another _fifteen_ agonizing minutes, and then: _he wants me and Allison to break it_

“What!” Stiles says out loud, then texts his reaction to Scott.

_ha ha now I get to kiss someone and you don’t_.

“Scott is an asshole,” Stiles tells his phone, then texts Scott back telling him to make some excuse, because Stiles didn’t arrange for this to happen so that Scott could make out with Allison _yet again_.

He never gets a reply, which is worrisome.

*

The frogs stop falling from the sky.

Stiles has been betrayed by his best friend.

So he does the only thing he can do, which is to lay on his bed and watch 1960s Batman, because at least on that show, wacky plans totally work out for the good guys. He bets that if Burt Ward ever wanted to kiss Batman, his wacky plan would have _succeeded_.

Stupid Scott and Allison with their stupid saving-the-day kisses.

When his window slides open, he assumes it’s Scott and throws his shoe at the dark figure climbing in without looking.

“What the hell, Stiles?” Derek asks. He’s standing there in Stiles’ room, holding a tennis shoe.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asks, because the best offense is a good defense.

“Why did you curse the town?” Derek’s face is impassive.

Stiles’ is not. He sputters and tries to spit out a denial, but Derek is having no part of it. In retrospect, it was probably a bad idea to admit to everything in that last text to Scott. “It was an accident.”

“Twice?”

“Okay,” Stiles amends, “it was an accident the first time. I was reading out loud from this website and I didn’t think it would actually _do_ anything.”

“But this time,” Derek says.

“Well.” Stiles could either hedge his bets or go all in. Something about the fact that Derek doesn’t look mad, and is actually shifting from one foot to the other a bit nervously, makes Stiles go all in. “I got to talking to Deaton. About how we broke the curse.”

Derek doesn’t say anything.

“And it was maybe implied that it had less to do with a kiss in general and more to do with the intent behind the kiss.” There. Stiles said it. He wonders if Derek will take over and confess now.

A moment passes. 

Guess not. “So I kind of thought that it meant, you know. That you had to kiss me and not anyone else because there were feelings. Of some sort.”

Derek runs a hand through his hair. “You’re not wrong.”

“I’m not wrong?” Stiles has no idea what to do now. It never occurred to him that Derek would admit anything, and now he’s flying blind. Shit.

“The kiss worked because I wanted to kiss you,” Derek says like it’s a normal everyday thing to confess. “And then you told everyone it was a terrible kiss.”

Oh. Maybe Isaac had been right to look at Stiles like he was a jerk. “I, um. Told everyone that because I wanted a re-do. Something, you know, a bit fancier.”

Stiles wishes that he’d had time to call Lydia and get her to write a script of something for him. He is fucking this up.

“So you cursed the town,” Derek says after a pause, “because you wanted to kiss me again.”

“It was either that or talk to you, and we have a much better track record with curses,” Stiles admits.

Derek steps forward and puts a hand at the base of Stiles’ neck. His eyes dart down and Stiles realizes that he’s looking at his lips.

“Did we break the curse with true love’s kiss?” Stiles blurts. Derek is _right there_ and despite the fact that he’s been thinking about this moment since, well, the last time this happened, he suddenly has no idea what to do.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” Derek murmurs. His hand slides up gradually, ruffling into Stiles’ hair.

Stiles nervously wets his lips, and Derek’s leaning in slow enough that Stiles could pull away if he wanted, like Derek is still uncertain that Stiles wants this.

Stiles isn’t going to wait that long, so he pushes into the kiss. The contact is shockingly _real_ this time, and instead of breaking away Derek deepens the kiss, splaying a hand on Stiles’ hip and opening his mouth up, devouring him.

Every nerve in Stiles’ body is zinging, and he’s acting on pure instinct when he licks into Derek’s mouth, when he grazes his teeth against Derek’s lower lip. Derek lets out a tiny noise at that, tightens his grip on Stiles’ hair, so Stiles takes that as an invitation and bites on Derek’s lip, tugging at it.

He feels the wall against his back before he realizes that Derek has moved them, has pushed him against the wall and as Stiles breaks off the kiss with a gasp, Derek is pressing his face into the soft skin of Stiles’ neck, making him squirm against him and grasp at his shirt, his back, as Derek kisses and nips at Stiles’ throat.

Stiles _moans_. He thinks dimly that he should be embarrassed at the noises coming out of him, but all he can do is pull Derek in closer arms around his neck, hoping he’ll never let Stiles go.

Then Derek pulls away from his neck, looks him dead in the eye. His eyes have a faint luminescence to them, like he’s too distracted to concentrate on being completely human, and Stiles slowly leans in, presses their foreheads together, and then kisses him softly. His mouth is already tingling from contact with Derek’s stubble, and the sensation goes straight down, settling as a warm fluttering low inside. 

Derek leans heavily against him, and his hands drift down to grasp both of Stiles’ hips. Stiles pushes up against him, feels Derek hot against him. Stiles keeps the kiss going, splaying his hands on either side of Derek’s face, gently rubbing his thumb against the surprisingly soft skin over Derek’s cheekbones.

Derek makes a tiny, contented sound, and Stiles can feel his lips curving up into a smile.

This kiss is one hundred percent worth cursing the town over.


End file.
